


Ground Zero

by Delenn (goddessdel)



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Dystopian Future, F/M, Post Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 11:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/pseuds/Delenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The transgenic war for freedom is over. But at what cost? For the remainders, beginning again is far from simple. Sometimes freedom comes at too high a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ground Zero

**Author's Note:**

> "Sometimes freedom comes with too high a price."
> 
> An even more dystopian future appears after the end of the series. Way post- Freak Nation. Sometimes, humanity is its own worst enemy.
> 
> Date Started: 7 April 2006. Date Finished: 2 September 2013.

It was like waking from a nightmare, and then realizing that the nightmare was just beginning.

Staring at the charcoal stained floors, a flat wasteland visible where there used to be walls. Rubble from the missing ceilings. And the smell...

Well, there was nothing to do about that anyway.

Sharp eyes scanned the disaster, noticing things (bodies, bones, blood, screams, memories, ruins) they'd rather not. In what still held some resemblance to a corner, a lone metal pole still stood; strips of singed, discolored cloth still hanging from it.

The flag.

It had been moved there, inside, when they'd all had to come inside. Standing there as some proud symbol, a reason, a memory, a delusion of why they were still fighting so hard, so long.

Now it stood in shreds, like the rest of Terminal City. The rest of the world.

She stood there staring, frozen by the sight of that ruined flag on top of everything else. Still so proud.

He strode forward, calmly, and seized the pole between his two hands, lifting it gently out of its concrete holder. He stared at it for a long moment and then, with not so much as a word, snapped it in half and tossed it among the debris of the floor.

When he returned to her side, neither said a word. Took one last look around and turned, movements deceptively slow as they walked out of the ruins. Reached two out of place, apparently new, motorcycles and got on.

The roaring engines, leaving the place (memories) far behind, were the first noise to be heard beyond the snapping of metal. And the last.

/0/

"Are you insane, Max?" Staring up at her wide-eyed and irritated, Alec couldn't believe his ears.

Her usual bitchy comments were reserved for when there wasn't a crowd muttering in the background, waiting to see who won this battle of dominance. "It's the only way!"

Careful to interrupt one of Alec and Max's battles, Mole cut in, "We've lost too many already. We can't keep on this way."

"Look at us," Max was addressing the crowd again, ignoring the icy glare on her back, "they've driven us practically underground again. Who wants to go back to hiding in sewers?!"

"That's not the issue," Alec cut in smoothly, voice low and easily indiscernible to the rest of the crowd, who was exclaiming excitedly at Max's comment. "You know it's not, Maxie."

Swinging back around to face him, Max's eyes held enough pain to reassure Alec that she knew just as well as he did. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I don't know what else to do."

"Max…" she shoved papers at him and he stopped, staring down at the ultimatum. The walls were closing in on all sides, as they had been for months. Only now, the last chink was in place and there was no room to maneuver.

"It's us - it's us or everyone." Her eyes pleaded with him for understanding.

Biting back a shaky breath, Alec nodded. He nodded, just like that. Because of her. Raising his voice, he addressed the crowd, "Let's show them! Let's show them who's the next stage of evolution."

Wild applause met his statement, any concerns abandoned.

From the sidelines, Mole shook his head.

/0/

The reconnaissance mission was supposed to be just him and Max. Nothing ever turned out like it was supposed to.

Fired up by their speech, a few of the bolder transgenics had ventured out as well - strictly against orders - and were launching their own version of a pre-emptive strike. At first it was just graffiti and a few broken windows. But things escalated rapidly as public opinion turned harsher. Things always escalated.

They had opened the vault that they'd surrounded themselves with, their transgenic safe-hold from the insanity of hatred that was going on around them, for one reconnaissance mission, and suddenly a group of extremists formed and escaped to wreak havoc. Neither Alec or Max had been aware that any extremists had survived their leadership - they'd been quite firm on their stance. A united front that few wanted to mess with.

The mission itself failed spectacularly - they were recognized almost instantly and forced back to Terminal City, where they watched the chaos beginning over broken vids, with Mole shaking his head at their side.

Both sides of the war were gearing up for a final tactical showdown, and there didn't seem to be much way to get out of it. Max had spent the better part of the last three months trying to talk some sense into various world politicians. They either didn't care or couldn't keep control of their populous long enough to be of any use.

The third transgenic was strung up in as many days - a grotesque reminder that those of them not secluded were in terrible danger. Meanwhile, the unsolved murder rate for Ordinaries went up tenfold in a week.

Through sheer force of will, Max had managed to arrange a meeting with the American president to discuss the situation. Neutral territory - an attempt at arranging later peace talks. The US government might have had a larger population at their disposal, but the transgenics were better trained and worth twenty good men a piece. Those still safe in Canada had been smuggling in arms and food, supplies and threats. The American military had responded with deadly force and blockades. Neither side could afford this confrontation blowing into a full-on war.

Max was just extending her hand warily, while Alec stood silently to her side - ever alert for potential dangers - content to let her be the face of the New Transgenic Future, when movement spread out from behind him. Alec whipped around just in time to watch the remaining ten extremist transgenics, who had been causing half of this latest round of trouble, appear vaulting over the walls with crudely made Freak Nation flags.

The snipers opened fire. The transgenics, mostly non-humanoid looking ones, reached out for the nearest necks to break, moving faster than the bullets - for the most part. The various journalists covering the event got caught in the fray.

Alec turned back to Max, grabbing her elbow and attempting to get them the hell out of the chaos before the president decided it was their fault. Her hand, half-extended to shake the president's, was frozen in mid-air.

With a little shrug, the president pressed a button in his hand, viciously declaring, "There's more than one way to skin a cat." The mechanism engaged while everyone else was too busy to notice.

Dragging Max with him, Alec took off at a full run, not daring to stick around and find out what exactly had just happened.

And that was when all hell broke loose - literally.

/0/

The motorcycles roared down the peaceful road. Not much could be seen except fields and forests, blurring by until they seemed like one and the same. The air had an off scent, the sky tinged a color it shouldn't, and the silence was louder than the engines.

The silence was everywhere now. Few birds dared to venture out of their nests, let alone to bother chirping. The two lone riders glanced at each other, but neither moved to break the silence. That was what the motorcycles were for, a hard and dependable sound that ripped through the landscape like a wound.

Rushing against them the roaring wind whispered promises of freedom. But what did it matter now? The cost of freedom had come too high, leaving a bitter taste connected forever to the word.

They would leave, but there was no way off this desolated mass of earth, and there were no guarantees that any other continent had fared better. How far this had spread was too wide-open and frightening.

They only ventured into the cities for food. Watched the scavengers take advantage of the abundant supplies, once dwindling so rapidly in the face of the population it had to support, now nothing short of an over-kill. Some set themselves up like lonely kings. It made no difference. Thoughts of rebuilding were few and far between. And the transgenics, well, they would survive perfectly well without new governments and dictators trying to use and abuse them.

There were no cages anymore - there wasn't much of anything anymore. The Pulse seemed like a too-pleasant dream, nebulous and not quite real.

The nightmares though, the nightmares were real enough. They multiplied, snaking out like the spiders that used to roam, screaming in the night. Whispers among the ruins, _your fault_ , echoing blame until they crumbled to dust under their own weight.

Two lone sentinels, the riders patrolled the wilderness, trying to undo what damage they could. Trying to find solace in a world that offered none. They had been leaders and lovers and monsters and saviors. Now they were ghosts, wandering through the ashes of the world they had failed to save. Clinging to one another in the dark. Swallowed up by the silence.

Fin.


End file.
